How Things Turn Out
by Hekate1308
Summary: She should be surprised when she meets Kitty Riley, but she isn't, not really. Maybe she has grown used to surprises. Sherlock/Sally, part of my ongoing universe.


**Author's note: It's been a while since my last story in this universe, so here's the next one. **

**I don't own anything, please review. **

She has grown used to surprises by now. That doesn't mean she isn't surprised. It only means she isn't as startled as any normal person.

How dull lives they must lead, she reflects when she bumps into Kitty Riley.

She only wants to get something from the stores, walk in the sunshine. Sherlock is watching Hamish, and she doesn't think the four month old will miss her much; he is fed and sleeping and his father knows what to do should he awake. She wanted a few minutes to herself, and Sherlock, who understands the need to be alone better than most others, encouraged her to go shopping.

In his typical manner, he simply shrugged and said, "It's a nice day" when he saw her stare out of the window after Hamish had fallen asleep. "We need milk" he added. She might have got some from Mrs. Hudson, but she felt that he knew what she needed and didn't judge her for it; so she quickly took her purse and told him she was on her way.

She chose to go through the park because it is a wonderful day. She didn't count on meeting Kitty Riley.

It's an accident. She sways to prevent running into a few children who are playing in the middle of the path, and is smiling at their antics and not looking where she is going.

She runs into someone, and when she looks up to apologize, the words die on her lips.

Kitty Riley. The woman who published the articles about Sherlock.

She stares, and the journalist stares right back. They recognize each other, and it would be embarrassing not to acknowledge it when they are standing in front of one another, their eyes fixed on the other person.

"Hello" she finally says, and it startles Kitty Riley. She doesn't know why it should – they have been staring at each other for almost a minute – but then she says quietly, "DS Holmes" and looks on the floor, and she understands.

She doesn't know what her feelings toward Kitty Riley are. She knows that John and Greg have never forgiven her for writing the articles; she knows that Mycroft made her leave the country; she knows that Sherlock doesn't hold a grudge because he considers it certain that it would have been someone else if she hadn't published her articles first.

Sally, though –

She believed them. She kept one in her desk to remind her that Sherlock was a fraud. The thought makers her swallow. Most of the time, she doesn't remember what she thought of her husband. It's past, and they are happy. But now...

Kitty Riley is mumbling something and starting to move, and she feels that she can't let her go, not like this.

Because even though she wrote the articles, Sally was the first to voice her suspicion, and if she can be redeemed, so can Kitty Riley. She doesn't deserve the blame, she doesn't deserve to look so guilty.

She turns around and grabs her arm.

"Let's have coffee".

She looks surprised, and scared, and Sally understands that. After all, Mycroft made her quit her job and leave when he thought his brother was dead. Sally only found out by accident because the British Government mentioned it in passing two, three years ago when he had had a little too much wine at a Christmas party (to this day, Sherlock declares it a miracle), and she knows how her brother-in-law can be. She would be scared to if the woman who was married to the man she had spread rumours about and who had a brother powerful enough to send her away wanted to have coffee with her.

But she smiles reassuringly, and Kitty Riley relaxes. Maybe she remembers who she was. It wouldn't surprise her. The media have kept an interest in Sherlock since his return, and now and then articles appear about his cases. There was one about their wedding too, although Mycroft makes sure they aren't being annoyed and followed and that their privacy stays intact. But there was one article, and it mentioned that they knew each other from work. Which made both of them laugh.

Kitty Riley knows who she is and who she was. She is sure of it. And she is equally sure that it is this that makes the woman follow her into a café.

She quickly lets Sherlock know that she'll take longer than she expected; she doesn't want him to worry.

Once they have their coffee, she looks at her and smiles. She doesn't know how to begin, not really, because they have never spoken before and what has been hangs between them. They don't have to let it, though, and she takes a deep breath and begins.

"It was... unexpected".

She doesn't have to elaborate what.

Kitty smiles timidly.

"No, it wasn't. I was just visiting cousins..."

She sounds apologetic, and Sally is quick to reply, "Really? That must be nice".

The journalist relaxes, and she can't help but feel sorry for her. She wrote the articles and believed in Moriarty, but that should be no reason to shun her, and Sherlock has never blamed her.

She blames herself though, if the guilty looks she keeps giving her are anything to go by.

She is about to ask something else – the cousins, the weather, she isn't sure – when Kitty asks, "How?"

It's obvious she didn't intend to ask. She looks shocked at herself. Sally could ask what she meant. But there was surprise in this one word, and disbelief, and confusion, and she knows, knows it even as the other woman begins, "I'm sorry, forget I –"

"I ran into him" she answers simply.

"Outside the cemetery. It was the third anniversary of his death, and I had just visited his grave – and there he was. Masked, if course. He was pretending to be old and homeless".

She smiles when before, she would have cried because she remembered how she felt that day until she met him, but now it is simply the beginning for her.

Kitty nods, but Sally can tell she wants to understand, wants to hear more, and suddenly, it dawns upon her why. Why she asked, why she needs to hear the whole story.

The guilty looks, the way her shoulders slumped when she saw her – she wants to know that they are happy, that she didn't ruin Sherlock's life. And she has to know from the beginning.

"We became friends" she continues, and she wonders how she can explain Beethoven at 3 am and a shelf in a fridge that's labelled "body parts" and telling her boss that she has to go because Sherlock texted her. How can she explain their relationship when she can't even explain their friendship?

Kitty, though, simply nods again.

"And you never..." she trails off before continuing, determined, "You never talked..."

"We talked about it but Sherlock never considered it important. He kept insisting that if it hadn't been me it had been someone else" she interrupts her and hopes she understand that Sherlock thinks the same thing about her.

"And really" she adds, "It doesn't matter". Because it doesn't. They are here now, and she lives in 221B with her husband and their son, and John and his family come and go at all times and Mrs. Hudson tells them she is not a babysitter while looking after Hamish and their friends drop by to see how they are doing and they end up bringing their baby to crime scenes and Mycroft pretends not to be a passionate uncle but comes once a week to drink tea and stare at Hamish, and their baby is already staring at chemicals.

It's prefect and strange and nothing that came before matters. She wishes Sherlock hadn't had to go through everything, though. She wishes they had come to this sooner, wishes she had seen what a wonderful man he was when he showed up at a crime scene and deduced she'd had sex the night before, wishes she had never told Greg her theory, wishes Sherlock had never got arrested.

And yet, considering they might never have come to this point if it hadn't been for everything that happened, Moriarty and articles and arrests and disappearances, she is thankful for it, glad for every word Kitty Riles has written, because how could she not be. She looks at the ring on her hand and smiles.

"He was very persuasive" she adds without trying to explain who "he" is. Kitty knows.

"Yes. He was". Something about the way she says it makes her wonder if she had feelings for Richard Brooke, but she doesn't ask.

"Sherlock never seemed to be the forgiving type" Kitty says and she realized it's the other woman's way of telling her about Mycroft.

"We can be a strange bunch" she answers and sees her eyebrows rise at the unexpected answer. In hindsight, Mycroft's reaction was not in proportion to what had happened, but he thought Sherlock was dead. She can't defend her brother-in-law, but she can't say anything against him either.

She never asked him why he didn't try to punish her. She knows he warned Anderson not to say a word against his brother. She never met him until her and Sherlock were dating, though.

"That's – I think you can put it that way" Kitty replies.

"How are you?" Sally suddenly asks because she is curious. She can see she is doing well because she is wearing nice clothes and the necklace she wears is polished, so she treasures it and it is most likely a present from someone, therefore –

She forces herself to wait for an answer. She might have picked up some things from Sherlock, and she loves him for what he can do, among other things, but she prefers to hear it from people themselves if they are happy.

"I'm fine. I live in France – a town near Lyon... I work as a translator. And there is – " A blush covers her cheeks and she stops talking, and Sally remembers when she and Sherlock weren't a couple yet but whenever he was mentioned, she would show the same star-struck look Kitty has on her face now. To be honest, she still looks like that when she thinks about Sherlock. She was right about the necklace, it seems.

"That's wonderful" she says and smiles.

Kitty answers, "I'm happy. I – I think it was good that I left, really – "

She stops talking and stares at Sally, before continuing, "Not glad about what happened, of course not, I – "

"I understand" she says softly, and Kitty relaxes.

Because there is a pause, and she wants to say something, she tells her, "We have a son".

Kitty looks at her. "A son?"

Sally nods and takes out her wallet.

"Hamish. He's four months old."

She holds out the photographs she always carries with her and Kitty takes them carefully.

"He looks very much like his father" Kitty comments after she has looked over the pictures.

"That's what I keep telling him" Sally says and watches the journalist as she thumbs through them and finds one that Greg gave her once and that she keeps only because Sherlock is looking at her, not the camera, and it makes her feel happy and ridiculously like a teenage girl every time she sees it.

Kitty's eyes linger on the picture before she returns them.

This time, the pause isn't uncomfortable, the silence that settles between them is not disconcerting. They drink their coffee.

Eventually, Sally looks at her watch.

"I better be off" she says, "I still have to do the shopping".

"Yes" Kitty shakes her head. "Yes, of course."

They leave the café together. Before they part, Kitty takes her hand.

"Thank you" she tells her. Only two words, but they hold so much.

Sally smiles and leaves her.

When she returns home, Sherlock is sitting on the sofa, Hamish in his arms, looking at their son.

Her heart swells.

He looks at her and raises an eyebrow.

She smiles.

It's going to be an interesting conversation once she's kissed her husband and greeted their son.

First of all, however, she will make tea.


End file.
